I think.
Part of me wanted to sneak out of the apartment before my aunt could bumble her way to the bedroom door, but that wouldn’t be polite. Instead, I went to her door and knocked. The door swung open.
Aunt Melanie stood in the narrow pathway between her enormous bed and her chest of drawers. Since the space between them was barely wide enough to open the drawers all the way even without the chunky boot on her foot, she was trying to squeeze her hand inside, but whatever she was reaching for appeared to be snagged on something.
As much as my friends liked to tease me for rotating the same four or five outfits all the time, one positive thing about not owning a lot of “stuff” was never running out of space. To be fair, I had more outfits back home, but considering I wore a uniform to work every day, it didn’t make sense to own a closet stuffed with clothes I could never show off, especially since most of my wardrobe was made by hand, and that took a lot of time and effort. But it was worth it.
“Can I lend a hand?” I asked.
“Yes, dear. Please.” She sank down onto the edge of her bed. I scooted around her and reached for a tie-dyed tank top she’d been trying to pull out of the drawer. “It’s stuck.”
“I can see that.” I wiggled the drawer off its tracks and retrieved the tank top, which had been pinched against the back of the dresser. I shook out the top. It was made of thin cotton, perfect for a warm day like this promised to be, and appeared to be hand dyed. It was also ripped along the seam.
“Oh no!” Aunt Melanie reached for it. “That was one of my last clean shirts.” I glanced in the drawer, which was packed with—of all things—more books.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can fix it.” I glanced over at her enormous suitcases. “Have you had a chance to unpack from your trip yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been exhausted. I should have stayed home and done laundry last night instead of dragging you to that gallery opening.”
“I’m glad you did. It was fun.” Maybe that was a fib. A tiny white lie. The art hadn’t exactly spoken to me and the champagne had been a huge mistake. But at least I’d gotten to spend time with my aunt. And Castillo. “Why don’t you leave this to me? I’ve got plans this morning, but I should have time to get a couple of loads done before I have to be at work this evening.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” she insisted. “I’ll just call down to Earl. He’ll have it sent out for me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I closed the drawer and took the torn shirt back from my aunt. I shuffled toward the suitcases and maneuvered them around so I could take them with me. I wasn’t about to be upstaged by the building’s grumpy old concierge. Fortunately, the suitcases had those little wheels that could swivel and roll in any direction, and I was able to push the heavy hard-sided suitcases out of the bedroom in front of me. “I’ve got this.”
After a quick repair of her tank top—a sewing machine really did make even the easiest job go so much quicker than it would have by hand—I lined the suitcases up against the door in the kitchen that led to her tiny washer and dryer. They were the micro-mini size that weren’t good for much more than a few hand towels or maybe a small load of socks. They were convenient, but if I tried to wash six weeks’ worth of clothes in them, I’d still be working on them come August. Instead, I’d drag the suitcases down to the coin-operated machines in the basement when I got home.
Speaking of which, if I didn’t hurry, I would be late meeting Izzy. I rushed through my morning routine and started a pot of coffee. I didn’t have time to drink it, but my aunt would appreciate it. I made sure that Rufus was fed and his litter box was cleaned, that there were no dishes in the sink, and that the curtains were open to let in the morning light before I headed out toward Untapped Books & Café.
The walk to work was always one of my favorite parts of the day. It was less than a mile and was a pleasant way to clear my head while getting some much-needed exercise. I’d thought about borrowing my aunt’s bicycle and riding to work a few times, but to be perfectly honest, I was too intimidated by the constant flow of irritated traffic to be entirely comfortable riding a bike in the street.
Izzy wasn’t outside when I arrived, not that I expected her to be. It wasn’t hot yet, just bordering on warm, but Izzy wasn’t the kind of person who waited around. She was probably inside, rearranging the shelves and chatting with repeat customers, even though she wasn’t on the schedule this morning. I opened the door to the familiar chime of the bell hanging from the doorframe, and a completely unfamiliar whoosh of cold air.
I stopped in my tracks and let my head fall back so the cold air could wash over my face. Huckleberry gave me a happy doggy grin, and I could tell he was at least as happy about the fully functional air conditioner as he was to see me.
After all, he saw me pretty much every day. A working air conditioner was a novelty.
“You’re not on the schedule this morning,” an unexpected voice said, and I tore myself away from my unexpected enjoyment to look at the speaker. Nan, the new waitress, was behind the counter.
That was a surprise. Todd liked to have his staff do odd tasks around the shop just so he wouldn’t have to do it, and wasn’t above ordering one of the servers to man the desk for an hour or so despite making waitress wages. He just didn’t trust easily. I’d been at Untapped several weeks before I was given the keys to the cash register. Nan had been on staff for days.
“Neither are you. I thought Betty switched with me?”
“And I switched with Betty,” she said. “Wait a sec, if I’m covering for Betty and she’s covering for you, what are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting Izzy. Have you seen her?”
“You think if Izzy was around, I’d be at the front desk? Even on her day off?”
Nan had a point.
I liked my job. Really I did. The employees were great, with the probable exception of the boss. The customers were fantastic. The perks of a discount on food was a game changer. But I knew too well the perils of showing up at the bookstore on my day off. It was bad enough that I was expected to keep up with the store’s social media accounts whether or not I was on the clock, but when I stepped foot inside, I was fair game.
Last time I’d made that mistake, I’d ended up running to the office supply store for toner for Todd’s printer, to the grocery for a crate of lemons, and to the post office to drop off a package for Todd’s mother.
“Well, if you see her, let her know I’m looking for her.” I gave Huckleberry one last pat on the head and made a beeline for the café portion of the store. The only customers were seated at the bar, so Parker was able to take care of them.
Personally, I didn’t think it was fair that Parker had to prep and cook all the food and then serve it as well. But the way Todd saw it was if there were fewer than half a dozen seats filled, the only server on shift could cover the bookstore and he could disappear into his shabby office in the back. Needless to say, despite being almost the exact same height, Todd and I were never going to see eye to eye.
“Heya,” I said, waving at Parker. Instead of heading into the tiny, cramped kitchen, I took the barstool closest to the pass-thru window.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” he said. “I was about to ask those two customers if they wanted to try my newest recipe, but I rather like it when you play guinea pig.”
“Hit me,” I agreed. While he was plating his new experiment, I pulled a bottle of Pour Williamsburg out of the cooler and popped the top. It was way early but I hoped a little hair of the dog could ease my throbbing hangover headache. Out of habit, I refreshed the other patrons’ coffee. It seemed like a small price to pay to be the first to sample one of Parker’s new culinary creations.
“I’m calling it breakfast chili,” he said, sliding a soup bowl through the pass-thru. A quarter of a waffle poked up out of the cent
er, separating a scoop of hearty chili on one side and scrambled cheesy eggs on the other. The eggs were garnished with paprika, and the chili with white onions and a dollop of sour cream. “Late last night, I was starving. I was in the mood for migas or huevos rancheros.” I’d often had migas—scrambled eggs, tortilla chips, and chilis—in Louisiana, but I hadn’t tried huevos rancheros—eggs, salsa, and beans—before coming to New York. It was delicious. “But I didn’t have any cash, or chips in the house, so I threw this together instead.”
I scooped a forkful of cheesy eggs onto the waffle, topped it with chili, and took a bite. “Yummy,” I said, my mouth still full. I chewed and swallowed.
“Yeah?” Parker looked pleased.
“Although, it’s more like migas meets Frito chili pie than huevos.”
“Frito chili what?”
Now it was my turn to educate Parker on something culinary. I wasn’t sure that had ever happened before, and certainly not to me. I might know a dozen ways to prepare a crawdad, but he knew at least twice that many. “You take a big double handful of corn chips,” I told him, pantomiming the action as I talked, “and dump them in a big bowl. Cover them with hot chili right off the stove.” I wasn’t about to admit that nine times out of ten, I made Frito chili pie with chili that came out of a can that I popped in the microwave. He might faint. “Smother it with diced onions and shredded cheddar cheese, and add a dollop of sour cream on top.”
“Sounds . . .” He seemed at a loss for words.
“Yummy,” I supplied helpfully. “And warm, and hearty, and”—I rolled my eyes back into my head—“comfort food.” I took another bite of his creation. “Delicious.”
“I was thinking I could make an option with vegetarian chili, too, but I’m not sure if I can make it vegan. Do you think it would work with vegan scramble instead of eggs? Minus the cheese and sour cream, of course.”
“Maybe? You’re a genius.” He blushed. “Most people couldn’t even come up with a decent new idea in the kitchen to save their lives, and you’re already thinking of ways to make a vegan version.”
“It might be easier to stick with vegetarian for now. I’ve got a mean vegetarian chili recipe I was working on last winter.”
“Speaking of which.” I paused to take another bite. It was the perfect combination of sweet, savory, and spicy. I had to take a sip of my beer to balance out the chilis and spices. “Isn’t this more of a, you know, cold-weather dish?”
“I was thinking that, too!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “Except I got to work this morning, and the AC was running for once. Imagine having the comfort of a hot chili breakfast in a cold café. Brilliant, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “And you can always market it as a hangover cure. I had the worst headache earlier but I feel much better now.” I took another slug of beer, this time to build up my courage. If there was any chance I was going to be on that Greyhound bus on Wednesday, I ought to give Todd a heads-up so he’d have time to adjust the schedule. I’d known all along that I’d have to tender my resignation sooner or later, and I was a pull-the-Band-Aid-off-quickly kind of woman. “Is Todd around? He wasn’t at the front desk.”
“I think he’s in his office. Why? What’s up?”
I sighed. I liked Parker. He was fun and sweet and a great cook. He had an understated sense of humor and an irrepressible smile. He was always nice to me, and without his influence, I would have never tried half of the culinary delights that Williamsburg had to offer. I wouldn’t have ever even tasted avocado toast.
He was my friend, and he certainly did not deserve to learn the news secondhand. “If Izzy and I don’t find a place to stay soon, as in the next three days soon, I’m heading back to Piney Island on Wednesday.”
“No way!” He reached through the window and grabbed my hand. “Hold off on talking to Todd. We’ll come up with something, you’ll see.”
14
Untapped Books & Café @untappedwilliamsburg ∙ July 14
Don’t sweat it! We’ve got cold A/C and hot, hearty meals. You know you want to see what Parker’s got cooking in the kitchen today! #Breakfastchili #yummy #Williamsburg
Parker crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll figure something out. No way can you leave on Wednesday,” he said. Like me, Parker had a slight build. He did not look intimidating, even when he scowled and brandished one of his enormous chef’s knives at anyone who wandered into his kitchen if they didn’t belong.
“I know, it sucks.”
“It more than sucks,” he replied. “Wednesday’s my birthday. I’m planning a little get-together and I thought you’d join us. There’s a new Italian café over on Montrose that I’ve been dying to try. I heard they have a terrific crab and goat cheese ravioli, and they make a divine Limoncello cake.”
“Oh no, Parker. I didn’t know your birthday was coming up. My aunt could not have worse timing.”
“Can’t you convince her to let you stick around for a few more days?”
“I already tried,” I told him. “She’s not used to having someone sharing her space. I think she wanted me out yesterday but is too Southern to say so. If I can’t find something fast, I’m not gonna have much of a choice.”
“Come crash with me until you can find your own place,” he urged.
“Thanks for the offer, but you’ve told me horror stories about your apartment, remember? The cockroaches the size of dinner plates?” I held my hands out a foot apart. “What did you name them, again?”
“Randy and Jose,” he said.
“And don’t you have like a dozen roommates?”
“Two. Only two. But Suz is hardly ever home and Tony’s real quiet. Sometimes I forget he’s even there.”
“You’re awful sweet, but I’m pretty sure your roommates don’t want another person in the apartment. Besides, what would Hazel think?” It broke my heart to have to leave Brooklyn, but I couldn’t imagine putting up with the kind of living arrangements all my friends seemed to take for granted.
“Hazel wouldn’t mind. But you’re right, my roomies would,” he assured me. “We’re packed in like sardines as it is.”
“Nothing is set in stone yet,” I assured him. “I’ve still got a few days to come up with something, and Izzy said she could find us something. I don’t know if she can do so on such short notice, but she’s surprised me before.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said with a wide grin. “Hey, how about we go try that Limoncello cake right now? We can pretend it’s my birthday today.”
“I’d love to, but you’re working, and I’ve got plans with Izzy. Another time. Promise.”
I had seventy-two hours to come up with an affordable place to live in Brooklyn, not to mention solving Vickie’s murder. I had enough on my plate, but Parker’s birthday celebration needed to be more than a dinner with a few friends. Who didn’t love a surprise birthday party? I could arrange the whole thing, with Izzy’s help. She was the absolute bomb at throwing parties. She once organized a wake that had gotten so packed, we had to turn people away. If she could do that well with a wake, imagine what she could do with a birthday.
I patted Parker’s arm. “Chin up. It’ll be all right.” I pulled a few crumpled bills out of my wallet and laid them beside my plate to cover the beer and tip.
Izzy wasn’t out front in the bookstore, in the tiny restroom, or out back by the dumpsters. I stuck my head into Todd’s office on the offhand chance that she was in there. It was a dark, dank room with no windows, filled with an old army surplus desk and the overflow of stock or inventory that didn’t fit in the storage room next door. On the desk was a computer that hailed from the era of beige cases and big, clunky monitors. From the doorway I could hear its fan running.
Todd’s desk ran along the wall. Since the computer no longer had a working Wi-Fi card, it had to be physically plugged into the router mounted above his h
ead. I’d once asked Todd why he never locked his office door, but he’d just laughed at me and said anyone so hard up that they would steal his sweet setup was welcome to it. That might have been the most magnanimous and humanitarian thing I’d ever heard him say.
“Knock, knock,” I said, even though the door was open.
He glanced over his shoulder at me before returning to his keyboard. “Odessa, you’re not on the schedule.”
“Nope. Have you seen Izzy?”
“I’m sure she’s around. She always is. Hey, since you’re here, something came for you.” He rifled through his desk and came up with a padded mailer. He tossed it to me. “Shut the door on your way out.”
Once I was back in the hall, I ripped open the envelope and upended it. An Untapped Books & Café name tag fell out into my hand. I’d been wearing temporary stickers ever since I started—had it been less than six weeks? It felt like a lot longer—but now I had a legit plastic name tag with my name on it and everything. If I believed in signs, I’d think this was the universe’s way of telling me everything was gonna work out.
A man I didn’t know was waiting for me as I emerged from the hallway into the bookstore. “Odessa?” he asked. He was tall, close to six foot, maybe a hair over. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and whiter-than-white teeth. Toothpaste commercial white. His dark, almost black, hair was slicked back so it was hard to tell how long it was. He wore a soft-looking ringer T-shirt with the silhouette of a bigfoot under the logo for a summer camp. Both arms were covered in black-and-white tattoos down to the wrist.
No Memes of Escape Page 13